


I’m Only Mean Because I Kinda Want to Kiss Your Stupid Face

by thephantompoet (typewriteronfire)



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, High School AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 08:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2541497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/typewriteronfire/pseuds/thephantompoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a new girl. And no Rachel doesn’t care that she’s pretty. Not even a little bit. Nope.</p><p>(trying to convince yourself there, Duncan?)</p><p>(No, for goodness’ sake. What on earth are you implying!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. stolen goods (do you have my heart?)

Rachel Duncan notices the long awaited ‘new girl’, in fourth period of the second day of senior year. The lesson is dragging on longer than usual you see, the only reason she looks up and scans the room. The light is dancing across the walls in late morning impatience, illuminating the girl that the whole school hasn’t stopped talking about since her rolled-up sleeves first walked into this place. Rachel can hardly see why, of course, she’s nothing special.

She looks ratty, sure, but the new arrival seems charismatic, Rachel can’t help but notice, it’s only a first impression after all. She’s awfully attractive too, a thought that brings a scowl of frustration to the private-school girl’s perfect, perfect face.

_Stupid. Pull yourself together Duncan_

 

            “Sarah?” The teacher asks pointedly, as the girl flicks a wad of paper at the boy in front of her, and Rachel’s ears prick up with an instant smirk.

What a common name.

It suits her.

            “Yeah?” Sarah drawls the word out in deliberate disrespect.

            “Have you been listening to a single word I just said?”

Rachel narrows her eyes in satisfaction. Trust Mrs Bowles to iron out the riff-raff in class number one. But Sarah just smiles sweetly, if anything about her can be called sweet, and takes one booted foot off the chair next to her.

            “Which part exactly?” Her feline grin widens slightly. “Gatsby personifying greed, deceit and the destructive nature of obsession or F Scott Fitzgerald’s writing style reflecting the very themes he seeks to discuss?”

She’s draping herself indecently over her chair with an ease that Rachel can’t help but envy, one earphone dangling below her collarbone. It’s certainly an impressive show.

Mrs Bowles clears her throat in clear amusement and nods once.

            “Very good.”

How awfully disappointing, Rachel thinks. 

The day had being going so well until this ‘Sarah’ turned up in her English Literature class like an uninvited rodent. It’s a wonder that they let scum like this in, really. Now all she has to do is just stay away from her  

~~~

Later that day Rachel’s stalled at her locker, fumbling with papers desperately looking for the assignment sheet from English. After a minute of two of familiar rising panic she finds it and slips it into the front cover of her folder in relief, slamming her locker door shut to find, fantastic fucking surprise, new-girl-Sarah, lounging behind it.

            “Oh brilliant! Someone here to waste my time and pollute the air.”

Sarah grins.

            “I saw you giving me the hairy eyeball earlier and I wondered what the fuck your problem was. Thought I’d say hi and introduce myself.” The street rat holds a hand out, one frayed sleeve of uniform telling Rachel everything she needs to know about Sarah’s family’s financial status. “I’m Sarah Manning.”

Rachel doesn’t shake.

            “My name’s Rachel Duncan. But don’t waste my time Manning. I have no need to know who you are.”

She goes to turn on her heel and stalk away but Sarah’s one step ahead, placing her boot right in the path of Rachel’s next step and sending her sprawling unflatteringly across the floor. The sound of her laughter rings in Rachel’s ears as she tries to stand up as gracefully as she can, a glare of pure hatred directed venomously at Sarah, but to no avail. Her pride, or whatever there was to begin with, has been successfully shattered and Manning holds the keys.

            “You alright, rich bitch?”

            “Yes.”

Sarah smiles almost  _softly_ at this and kneels down to help gather Rachel’s books.

            “I’m so glad to hear that.”

Rachel is suddenly very aware of how close Sarah’s face is to hers as she gathers papers from the floor. The punk’s lips are pale pink, the trace of a scar visible on the lower one, as if someone had busted it some months earlier. She smells like shampoo and leather, soft and vulnerable at this proximity and so beautiful that Rachel realises that she hasn’t been breathing. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._  

            “Has anyone ever told you how irresponsible and infuriating you are?” Rachel says breathily, hating herself for the weakness. But Sarah just draws away, holding a stack of Rachel’s books with a distinct look of amusement.

            “They did, actually. And then we made out for several hours. So let me know Duncan. Maybe you’re not as boring as you look.”

It’s not until Sarah has rounded the corner and disappeared with a tap of combat boots that Rachel looks down at the books Sarah helped her with and realises that the bitch has taken her assignment sheet for English and left a small scrawled note in its place:

**_Lighten up, Duncan;_ **

**_‘I have a stick up my arse’ is not an attractive look._ **


	2. Chapter 2

Sarah is scowling again, and Rachel thinks it might just be the best thing she’s ever seen. Only because it must mean Sarah’s angry, something’s gone wrong, and anything wrong for Sarah is good for Rachel. Besides, the crinkle of the punk’s left eyebrow is too cute to entirely ignore, no matter how utterly beneath her Sarah is.

 

It’s lunchtime and Rachel’s sitting in her usual spot; face hidden behind a macbook screen and her stomach twisting into knots. Sarah’s across the way you see, looking lonely in a group of people and pulling angrily on a plaited bracelet as the quarterback, Paul, leans over her with a greasy smirk on his face and Rachel scowls at his back across the dirty canteen. But only because someone like Sarah doesn’t deserve the attention of someone as good-looking as him. No matter how stupid he is.

And Sarah’s anything but stupid.

_Fuck._

_Get yourself together Duncan._

Rachel can deal with anything but her mind playing tricks on her. You have to trust your mind, if nothing else, and Rachel knows that better than most. So she deepens her frown, drags her gaze from Sarah and types angrily into the empty word document on her screen. Her blood starts stinging in her veins and the clatter of the keys mirrors her heartbeat.

_Sarah manning is anything but the punk angel everyone thinks she is. I can’t believe they love her this much. I mean, what has she even done?_

_All she did was arrive, and now she has more than I’ve ever had, in my ten years in this place. What a bitch. I mean, she’s pretty; I’ll give them that. But she’s so much more than what they care about, and it makes me sick. The shallow, filthy beasts at this school don’t see even half of it!_

_Her skin is pale and beautiful, almost see-through, and her eyes dark enough that when she looks at you, you think that maybe she can see all the way into your heart. They don’t see it! They don’t see anything about her that’s real…_

Rachel stops typing then, breath coming faster and eyes stinging. She’s furious with herself, re-reading what she’s written with an angry blush-  _for goodness’ sake Duncan she’s nothing, she’s nobody-_  as Sarah looks up from where she’s still being hit on by the football ape.

She says something to him as Rachel watches and half-stands, moving her gaze to Rachel once he mopes off, with a glint in her eye that does things to Rachel’s stomach that she isn’t quite sure whether she likes or not. But she doesn’t have time to ponder, because Sarah’s walking over, boots hitting the linoleum floor with an ominous rhythm, and Rachel is forced to replace her earlier feeling with indignation and hate, desperately stuffed between her ribs like a last-minute attempt to dam a flood of butterflies.                                                                          

‘Hello Rachel,’ Sarah says as she reaches Rachel’s corner. It sounds like a threat.

 ‘Sarah.’

They look at each other for a second, Sarah tapping the toe of one boot against Rachel’s chair in silence. She looks almost nervous for a moment, and it makes Rachel’s scowl shift slightly, soften.  

‘Do you want to sit down?’

Sarah grins at that. ‘With you? Nah. Not unless you’re paying me.’

Rachel stiffens as if Sarah’s hit her and clenches her jaw. So this is what she gets for letting someone make her weak.

‘You’re hardly welcome here anyway.’ She starts saying, voice as cold as ice. ‘It was simply charity. If you won’t accept it, I’d much rather you left me alone.’

Sarah stands there in confusion for a second before comprehension dawns over her face and she stumbles to correct her mistake.

'No, no, Rachel! I was kidding!’ Her bashful grin dances eerily in Rachel’s rage dimmed vision. So earnest. So lovely.  _How dare she._

So Rachel stands up, half tripping over her chair, and snaps her laptop closed, shoving it roughly into her bag.

            ‘I don’t have time for this,’ she spits through clenched teeth, still clinging to the chance that Sarah doesn’t matter to her at all, as if her happiness doesn’t hang on what Sarah does next. ‘I’m going to be late for Sociology.’

Needless to say, Rachel  _won’t_  be late for Sociology. It’s a two-minute walk from the cafeteria, and the class itself doesn’t start for another twenty minutes. Sarah knows this and just stands there, watching Rachel make her way across the room, with a look of utter confusion on her face.

‘Bitch!’

\//\//

After school, Sarah sees Rachel again. She still can’t decide what to make of this private-school bob, landed in the middle of a public high school. And the girl makes it clear that she despises the place, distain dripping from every syllable and pretty eyes turning to ice more often than not. 

It makes Sarah nervous.

But it can’t be denied, Rachel’s general fury and rigid hate is fascinating, and the glimmers of vulnerability Sarah has managed to coax out of her thus far seems promising for future endeavours, and the punk is more than pleased about that fact. Maybe she shouldn’t bother, right? Rachel’s nearly past the gate, spilling out into the world and probably off to a mansion somewhere that’s completely out of Sarah’s reach. But her gait is unhurried, as if she’s trying desperately hard to make it seem like she’s powerful enough to take her time, wherever her destination.

It’s a self-conscious and painful habit, and enough to force Sarah Manning into a jog, trying to catch up to her.

 When she does, Rachel looks at her with surprise, brown eyes wide and a glare starting to force it’s way in.

            ‘What do you want now?’

            ‘I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to Paul’s party tonight, actually.’ Sarah’s got her smirk back, and she uses it in full force, ‘Unless the stick up your arse prevents you going anywhere other than home and school.’ 

Rachel rolls her eyes and turns away so Sarah doesn’t see her smile, and the day sparkles around them as if Rachel’s defrosting.

            ‘I could probably manage to attend.’ She says, cheeks slightly pink at the thought of Sarah Manning wanting to spend an evening in her company. ‘But only because there’s absolutely nothing else I could possibly have planned for this evening.’ 

Can’t let her get too comfortable, can she?

But Sarah smiles as if Rachel’s thanked her profusely for the invitation and leans forward, so quickly that Rachel thinks she might be imagining the whole thing, and kisses her sweetly on the cheek.

Sarah looks very proud of herself.

            ‘C’ya tonight Rach.’ She calls over her shoulder as she lopes away again. ‘Don’t bring the stick! Your ass is nice without it!’

For the first time in her life, Rachel is speechless; her cheeks betraying internal turmoil to the world, and stomach doing backflips all the way home.

~~~~~~~~~

 

:))))))

 

 


	3. paul's party and perhaps a pinch of passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rlly like this and it's properly long. enjoy!!

When Rachel gets home she showers twice. Trying to get rid of the burn on her cheek that brands her with desire for street-rat Sarah Manning’s affection.

Because she feels it, she does, like a sick, rolling wave of _need._

Need for Sarah to just touch her hair, even that; for Sarah to simply kiss her cheek again, the memory of her lips so soft, still against Rachel’s skin.

Oh yes, Rachel showers twice, with extra soap, trying not to picture Sarah Manning similarly wrapped in steam; blonde-streaked dark hair plastered wet to her head, eyes shining at her, hands reaching for- No, that’s exactly what Rachel doesn’t want her mind to do.

She even debates not going to this stupid footballer’s party, just so Sarah will know that Rachel doesn’t care, but Rachel _does_ care, and Sarah knows it. Sarah wanted her to know, when she smirked this afternoon, at least Rachel’s smart enough to see that.

So she gets dressed, a shirt, a skirt, something in-between her usual attire and the kind of garments seen at events like this one and tries not to try too hard.

She wants to try hard though, and she does in a way; carefully picking out a scarf, doing her makeup twice, hating herself all the while. When she sneaks down the stairs and out the large main doors painted a hospital white inside and out, nobody in the house sees her leave, and nobody would care much either if they did. Staying out past midnight attracts very few consequences, really.

Rachel could never have imagined how little they’d care, when she came here; leaving her parent’s charred corpses behind her in some far off town, maybe a city. She’s not sure. She was too young to remember, really, only the initial fear, the hatred; it’s still etched behind her eyelids with stubborn persistence. Rachel had spat like a wildcat. At least until they’d starved the fight out of her.

And she’s never misbehaved since; it’s amazing how easily she was crushed.

 _Sarah wouldn’t have given up, were she in my place,_ Rachel thinks, and shakes her head at herself, tucking away a phone into her purse and cursing ‘the Manning girl’ for her backbone, for her eyes, for those lips on Rachel’s cheek.

_Maybe this party’s a trick, maybe Sarah and Paul are going to throw me into a swimming pool and watch me drown. Laughing all the while._

Rachel slips out the front door silently, striding across the lawn with authority and stealth. She smiles to herself as she reaches the road, not used to such night-time escapades and deciding that she likes the way the dark kisses her skin. She lets her high-heeled feet tap out the confidence she isn’t sure she has, when it comes to Sarah at least, rough against the footpath and saying something Rachel isn’t sure she knows enough about.

~~~~                                                                                                                                

Paul’s a rich footballer, his mansion isn’t far away, but by the time she gets rounds the final corner on the last block before she can see the gates, Rachel feels sick with nerves. _Why on earth did I even come,_ her traitor-mind whispers. _Why on earth does Sarah even_ matter _to me?_

Before she can berate herself for thinking, a loud noise erupts at her elbow, the shrubs out the front of a dark silent house rustling violently and giving forth a ragged silhouette.

            ‘Shit!’ Rachel hisses and jumps backwards, stumbling and scared despite herself. At least until the face of a drunk jock, laughing and pulling some poor girl out of the shadowed backyard by her hand comes into proper focus.

            ‘Oi,’ he slurs, eyes shining unnaturally bright in the light of the streetlamps. ‘You here for Dierden’s?’

Rachel nods curtly in reply, still standing half in the gutter and wearing a look of undisguised disgust. The boy smiles widely at her, the girl behind him nodding along with his every word.

            ‘It’s down there a little way, there’s fucking strobe lights and balloons out front. You couldn’t miss it.’

            ‘Thank you.’

Rachel turns off to face the darkness and leaves the boy and his girlfriend giggling behind her. He was kind to her, no matter how drunk, and the feeling is so foreign to Rachel that she’s almost uncomfortable following his instructions, just for a second, hand clutching her phone inside her purse and bottom lip caught nervously between her teeth.

_The nice boy told you where it was. Now all you have to do is put one foot in front of another Rachel, Christ!_

So she does, the white gates and strobe lights quickly becoming obvious, and it’s not even a minute later when she slips through the front gate.

 

There’s a bouncer on the path, typically brutish and large, and he stops her.

            ‘Name?’

            ‘Rachel Duncan.’

He pretends to look at the list, chewing on a filthy thumbnail all the while.

            ‘You’re not on ‘ere, fancy bitch.’

            ‘Well no, I don’t imagine I would be.’ Rachel tries hard not to be flustered, cheeks burning. ‘Do you know a Sarah Manning? I was invited by her.’

            ‘Nah.’ The bouncer looks like he’s enjoying himself. ‘I don’t know one of em.’

Rachel can feel angry tears biting at her eyes, a sure sign of weakness. So she turns on her heel and stalks back out the fancy white gates, not stopping even when she hears feet coming after her and a muffled, ‘Rachel, wait!’

_So Sarah finally makes an appearance… Come to apologise for making a fool out of me?_

            ‘Sorry about that,’ Sarah says, finally catching up to Rachel and catching hold of her elbow gently so she can’t walk away. ‘He didn’t know.’

            ‘Are you sure you even want me here, Sarah?’ Rachel hears herself saying with a tremble in her voice which must have something to do with anger, not a feeling of betrayal and her heart beating wildly under her ribs.

            ‘Hey, hey, of course,’ Sarah says gently, reaching down to hold Rachel’s hand instead of her elbow. Rachel’s stomach flips.

But when Sarah’s fingers touch her palm, cold and small, Rachel comes to her senses and jerks away.

            ‘Funny way of showing it, Manning,’ She spits instead. ‘Give me one good reason to come back inside there with you.’

            ‘You like me, isn’t that a good enough reason?’ Sarah smirks. ‘Come on Rach, you’re really not as scary as you think you are.’

~~~~~

When they step back inside the gates, past the bouncer, down the side gate, and into the backyard, Rachel’s feeling no less overwhelmed. The boy from the bush wasn’t kidding, Paul’s outdone himself on the extravagance front, and the result is a pleasing piss-up of epic proportions.

 _If I wasn’t Rachel Duncan_ , she thinks sourly to herself, _I might even be enjoying this._

            ‘You’re secretly loving this, aren’t you?’ Sarah smiles as if she’s read Rachel’s mind. ‘Please relax, just for this one night, please? I’ll get you a beer.’

Before Rachel can protest, Sarah’s disappeared into the throng of writhing bodies and she’s left standing on her own.

The music pounds the house as if it’s a sentient party machine, people spilling in and out of it as if they’re ants, beholden to their trajectory: _the bar, the pool, then the house._ It almost hypnotic, the way the music caresses the people on their way. But Rachel has never felt more out of place, and Sarah isn’t looking too at home either as she reappears at Rachel’s elbow after shoving her way out of an impromptu mosh pit and hands her a beer roughly.

            ‘Fucking douche-bags, this lot are, despite the pretty party’ She muses, taking a sip out of her own bottle. ‘They gets better as the night goes on, I promise.’

Rachel watches Sarah’s lips against the glass as she takes another swig, her tongue resting against the rim, visible through the glass. Rachel feels her cheeks burning even in the cold night air and hopes Sarah doesn’t notice.

            “You’re talkative, aren’t you,’ Sarah murmurs with a smirk. ‘Too busy staring at me to form words?’

_Shit._

            ‘I don’t know where you got that idea, Manning.’ Rachel sniffs indignantly and takes a sip of the muck Sarah brought her. ‘You’re pretty self absorbed for an orphan.’

Sarah looks at her, eyes dark and hypnotic in the garden’s lights.

            ‘That’d make two of us, wouldn’t it Rachel.’

She smiles knowingly and looks away slowly; as if breaking eye contact is a magnetic effort, and drinks more of her beer.

She stares off into the throng of people still bathed in coloured light and decibels, the strobe beam obliterating shadow across the crowd, but the patterns dance differently where they touch her, and her denim armour.

Rachel’s sure she can see a melancholy in the slope of Sarah’s shoulders, a defeated tired that soaks her usual swagger with unshed tears and waters it down. It makes Rachel hungry, a taste of victory perhaps? Pity? Empathy?

But surely not.

She reaches over; feeling awfully disconnected from her arm, and takes the bottle gently from Sarah’s unsteady hands.

            ‘Sarah.’

The punk looks at her, eyes dark and artfully smudged with eyeliner.

            ‘Don’t start pretending to care now, Duncan. I’m really not in the mood to play with you tonight.’

Rachel ignores her, slipping a hand through her arm and towing her stubbornly through the middle of the dance floor and out the other side.

~~~

Past the bar it’s quieter and a small porch light is the only illumination. There are two half-broken deck chairs and a table illuminated by the wavering circle of light. Rachel lets go of Sarah’s arm quickly, the warmth of her skin through a think denim jacket obvious and distracting even on such a short walk to the side veranda.

Rachel walks over to the less broken chair and lowers herself gingerly into it, a grimace of distaste poorly disguised on her face.

The punk collapses into the other one and it lets out a very ominous groan of displeasure at her weight. She smiles brightly for a second and it's like the sun has emerged from behind a cloud.

            ‘I brought a bottle of scotch,’ Sarah says. ‘I thought I might need it. Turns out I’m right. Except you can share it with me if you’d like?’

Rachel nods mutely, watching the way Sarah’s cheekbones look more prominent in half-shadow as she takes a swig and imagining running her fingers down them, their noses touching and Rachel’s lips drawing closer and closer and-

            ‘Rachel?’

            ‘Mmm?’

Sarah’s holding out the bottle to her.

            ‘Are you going to have it or do I have to fight fucking gravity forever?’

            ‘Thank you,’ Rachel says in answer, feeling the cold glass of the liquor against her fingers. It feels like danger, and electricity. She likes it.

Rachel raises it to her lips, conscious of the fact that Sarah’s lips have touched the same edge not even ten seconds ago and she can feel her cheeks heating up at the thought.

When she takes a sip the alcohol burns her throat with a fury that reminds her of flames and she coughs roughly for a second before the warmth reaches her stomach and she can see Sarah smiling at her. It’s a better feeling than anything in the world.

And the best thing is that Sarah doesn’t stop smiling, taking back the bottle and drinking again.

The alcohol has made her flushed, eyes shining and Rachel watches her stand up as if she’s underwater, in a dream. Sarah smirks, there’s that signature snark back again, and Rachel is now very aware that Sarah’s close, very close.

Then there are hands on her knees, fingers moving to grip her thighs. Rachel closes her eyes, heart beating as if she’s a wild animal cornered, vulnerable. Dangerous. Then she can feel Sarah’s breath on her cheeks, a kiss in itself. The air gives her life, traces every cavern of her lungs. _I want to breathe for her._

And Sarah kisses her, like honey and summer, with a hint of smoke, the scotch still coating her tongue. It’s soft at first, but then Rachel grabs at Sarah’s shoulders and pulls roughly. Her tongue reaches more of Sarah’s lips this way, and it’s like she can crawl inside this new warmth being fanned under her cold ribs, Sarah’s body very present, very real.

But it makes Rachel _want_ things.

And that means she’s weak.

 

Rachel tastes acid, suddenly, like the cold water of truth, and pushes Sarah away.

 

Sarah spits in rejection like a fire with water thrown on it.

 

‘Fucking make up your mind rich bitch.’ She kicks a deck chair, and it crumbles to the paving stones. ‘I don’t have time for this! I don’t have any bloody time for _you_!’

 

Rachel’s left in the quiet porch light. Heat still lingering on her skin and the smell of Sarah, soap and smoke, caught in her hair.

 

Her lungs fight her for air that isn’t tainted. Kissed.

 

_I like her._

_I’m fucked._


End file.
